


Whisper Across Heart

by chaichaiwu



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:54:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29852160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaichaiwu/pseuds/chaichaiwu
Summary: "You'll find another soul in the world that fits you best."This fanfiction is about the love story of Carlisle and Esme Including Carlisle's transformation, Esme's past, how did they meet and fall in love.Timeline:1666-This is a compile of oneshots which were chapters slected and translated from my long carlesme fanfic 'Whisper Across Heart(心边的低语）' I also posted them on Tumblr@needahugfromesme.I'll try to proofread it and correct my grammar before I post. If my grammar is too messy please do tell me :)Thanks a lot for reading!
Relationships: Carlisle Cullen/Esme Cullen
Kudos: 3





	1. The Dream

1921 May

[Esme's POV]

Esme heard Carlisle got up from his chair and opened the window, but the wind blew away the papers lying on his desk. He sighed softly, closed the window walked back.

She could hear everything going on in his office. The sound of him taking books from shelves, the sound of him opening and closing drawers, the sound of his nib hitting the edge of the ink bottle, the sound of a match striking, the sound of him opening the windows. She knew it takes two steps to walk from his desk to the window. Five steps from the desk to the fireplace. Twelve steps to get from one end of the office to the other.

Nevertheless, Esme had no idea what he was reading, what was in the drawer, what was written on the paper, what he was thinking when he was pacing,

Sometimes she wondered whether he was reading the novel she had mentioned. Was the mini-portrait she gave him kept in his drawer. Whether it was his diary that he was writing and whether there were any words about her in it. When he opened the window, was he expected the sunrise as much of as she did? Did he know, that she was upstairs listening surreptitiously, counting his every step?

All she could do was counting his steps,

Two, Five, Twelve

Two, Five, Twelve…

She didn’t dare to talk to him since that accident happened.

I covered his mouth.

I touched a man’s mouth.

I put my hand over Carlisle Cullen’s mouth.

Lying in her bed, those sentences rolled and echoed in Esme’s mind like a magic spell, she could hardly concentrate on anything.

Have I gone mad? Have I lost my mind? Was I flirtatious? The answers to all these questions seemed to be yes, and she hated to admit it.

She just wanted to stop him from blaming himself. Why did he always apologize for something that wasn’t his fault?

He was decent. Such a person should not be always ready to apologize and immerse himself in self-blame. He should relax, he should smile, he should accept people’s praise without feeling guilty.

When she looked at the doctor standing in front of her, watching him tormenting himself days ago it was like someone cutting her heart with a rusty knife.

All because she loved him.

She had always loved him, from the moment he showed up at the kitchen door and became the first person in her human life who listened and interested in what she was saying; from the moment he gently soothed the frightened sixteen-year-old girl and cured her broken leg; from the moment she opened her eyes and he stretched out his hands to her; from the moment she discovered that he had not given up on her whether she was lost, frightened, angry, or sad; from the moment she realized that he was also vulnerable and imperfect.

She loved his compassion, his patience, his integrity, and his honesty. She admired his self-control, his courage in choosing a medical profession, and his adherence to his principles.

If she could. If he allowed her to love him. if she could be his

Wife

But she didn’t have the guts to say the word even in her own head.

It was weird. After living under the same roof with him for more than 6 months. She still trembled when she called him by his name.

If she could be his wife. Esme thought.

She would spend every second of her life pestering him to remind him of the virtues he possessed. She would boldly and passionately repeat her love to him. She would protect him from sorrow, for her embrace would be his refuge. She would tell him to the hunt after his eyes had darkened; She would stroke his face with her hands and kiss his frowning brow and his sad lips.

His lips…

She remembered, under her palm, his lips parted and quivering, trying to say a few more words. She had no idea that his thin upper lip and the firm line between the lips could be so soft to touch.

His breath sprayed on her palm like a flame. His breath leaked from the loose joint between her hand and his lips, and the scent lured her to be closer to him and made her forget how inappropriate her behavior was.

She wanted to hold up her hand to her nose and to check if his smell still lingered on it since a few days had passed. But her burning shame made her put her hand down as if she had done something so disgraceful.

She moaned and pulled the pillow over her head and pressed it to her face. However, Esme forgot Carlisle’s silver cross, now hers, was placed on the pillow before. The cold silver fell off, hit her chin, slipped down her neck and touched her bite mark.

Esme shivered.

She retched her trembling fingers toward the cross, she could have picked it up and put it aside. But instead, the moment she touched it, she pressed it against her skin.

Does it feel the same as his lips pressed against her neck?

She pressed the cross again and closed her eyes.

She saw him standing by her bed, his broad, bare shoulders blocking the light from the window and casting shadows on her body. His pale golden hair glistened like he was wearing a crown of gold leaves.

The gentle smile on his lips was as usual, but the lust in the depths of his black eyes she had never seen it before.

He bent down and tenderly imprisoned her in the bed. The silver cross on his bare chest swept across her neck. His lips parted, spraying his sweet breath on her face. He took her cheek in his hand and brushed her lower lip with his thumb.

“Feel it.” He whispered in her ear, his voice was unfamiliar low and rough.

Feel what?

To feel his touch as soft as falling snow or the unbearable weight he put on her chest? To feel the coldness of the silver cross or the heat of his breath? To feel God’s mercy or to feel him?

“Let me comfort you, let me heal you, let me guide you.” He said, like he was reciting the climax of a poem. His voice was getting lower and lower, and the fragrance from his breath grew stronger and stronger.

Comfort was wheat, Heal was sweet cinnamon, Guide was spicy musk.

“Follow me.” He took one of her hand, pressed it beside her head, their fingers interlocked.

“I will.” She gasped eagerly, “wherever you go.”

He finally kissed her, soft at first, then heavy and pressing.

His hand was on her back, and she could feel the grip, as if he were saying, “We’re not close enough.”

He ventured to stick out his tongue and licked the bite mark on her neck, leaving her shaking and holding her breath. In contrast to the warmth and softness of his tongue, his teeth that scraped the scar were sharp and tingling.

As her hand pressing the cross against her body moved, his tongue and teeth went south, toward her collarbone and her breasts…

“Esme, would you like to go hunting with me?” Carlisle knocked her bedroom door.

Esme opened her eyes suddenly, let go of the cross, clutched the sheet beside her, and gasped for air.

She didn’t answer.

He signed and walked away.

One step, two steps, three steps…like a countdown.

“I’ll come with you.” She jerked the bedroom door open

“Great.” He said with a big smile on his face.

Thank God. Everything is still the same, Esme thought.


	2. Mirror

1921 July  
[Carlisle's POV]

The last candle made a faint crackling noise as it was about to burn out while the faint orange glow it cast on the table flickered, irregular and uneven, like the heartbeat of a dying person.

Carlisle moved his hand near the candle flame and, examining the speck of light on his fingertips. He preferred candlelight to electric light since the warm glow of the fire made his skin look less ghostly pale, giving it a false pink color.

Carlisle longed for these details of the human body, the warm, soft skin, the flush on the cheeks, the beating heart, the ability to taste the food, to cry, and to have dreams. He was content with this moment of self-deception as if he possessed temperature, blood, and humanity once his fingertips were covered with warm pink.

God created man in His own image. But humanity, the most important thing that God has created, had been taken away by vampire venom.

‘If I was a human being, if Esme and I were an ordinary encounter…’ Carlisle thought. He was sure that he would have the courage to court her. This idea was like a glowing, seductive, magic mirror drawing Carlisle to step toward, forcing him to see the life that he could never get.

Carlisle, enchanted, could not resist the apparition, raised his hand and touched his blue eyes in the mirror. Esme was standing next to him, her hand cupping his face, her warm brown eyes were full of love. Carlisle’s cheek burned, the pink flush leaping from his cheekbones to his ears. The only coolness was from the wedding ring on her finger.

“Remember how we met?” the Esme in the mirror asked.

Carlisle in the mirror nodded.

“I never expected to see you again. I left my abusive ex-husband and eventually settled in Ashland. Bruised my arm when I was helping the kids fixing a nest to a tree branch. When I came to the hospital, you were there.” Esme in the mirror touched Carlisle’s arm. “And you have been there with me ever since.” She smiled, took Carlisle’s hand.

A small hand was pulling Carlisle’s arm, and the naughty boy laughed and tried to climb on Carlisle. The child had Esme’s big round eyes. She bent down to pick him up.

“Say hello to Carlisle,” Esme said gently to the little boy and kissed him on the cheek.

Suddenly shy, the boy buried his face in his mother’s hair. Seconds later, he held out his hand to Carlisle. In his chubby hand lay a candy. “For you.”

“Thank you.” Carlisle in the mirror took the candy and stroked the boy’s soft hair. The little boy wriggled wanting his mother to put him down. He ran away to chase a sparrow as soon as his feet touched the ground.

“Carlisle.” Esme turned her face back to Carlisle and moved closer, pulling one of his arms around her waist which fitted the curve of her small perfectly. Then she took his hand and placed it on her belly.

The eyes of Carlisle in the mirror widened because of surprise. She gave a wide smile and nodded.

Carlisle in the mirror hugged Esme tightly and secretly wiped his tears of joy with his knuckle.

“You idiot.” Noticed Carlisle’s tears, Esme smiled. She raised her thumb and wiped the tear from his eyes which left a cool, moist mark on his mark.

“I love you.” She whispered, standing on tiptoe to kiss Carlisle.

The moment her parted lips touched his, the flame flickered and swallowed up by darkness, and turning into a thin wisp of pale grey smoke with a faint smell. The mirror was broken, too.

Carlisle was alone in his office.


	3. Candles

1921 July

Carlisle’s POV 

Carlisle had been used to the dark in which he could shut out all the thoughts and feel the peace that wrapping around him like black velvet.

But that night, when the last candle went out, Carlisle was left in the dark, no longer at peace. The fire had been put in Carlisle’s belly, one extinguished, the other kindled.

All because of her.

Esme had ignited the eternal flame in Carlisle’s chest since the first day they met. Whenever he thought about her or came near her, the fire burned more fiercely. The rising flame scorched his heart. Every movement she made added fuel to the flame.

“Why are you sitting in the dark?” Esme appeared at his door. In a sudden fright, Carlisle’s fingers cracked the edge of the table. “May I come in?” Her voice was so gentle and soft, like the moonlight filtering through the clouds outside his windows.

"Of course.” Carlisle stood up, tried to hide the damage with a book.

“Would you mind me lighting the candles? I’m afraid…The darkness makes me uneasy.” She hesitatingly whispered with her hands behind her back.

“Not at all. Please do.”

Her Caramel-colored curls slid down her back and clung to her porcelain neck as she bent her head to reach for the matches.

Carlisle was stunned as Esme turned to face him with a lighting candle in her hand.

Carlisle had never seen her wearing that dress before. The fire lit up the rosy floral patterns on the dark green tulle. Her bare neck and part of her chest were bathed in a warm pink-orange glow which disappeared in the mysterious gap between her breasts.

Carlisle hurriedly kept his eyes on her face. The breath that came from her slightly parted full lips made the flames flickering.

With the sudden tension between his thighs, Carlisle clutched the back of his chair and secretly prayed that Esme would stay on the other side of the table.

“Carlisle, would you mind holding the candleholder for me?” Esme said with the candle in her hand and the other one cupping around the flame to block the wind.

Carlisle dared not look at her again. He reached for the candleholder and felt Esme watching every movement of his hand. Her gaze ran like a tingling electric current through his knuckles. He suddenly forgot how to control his fingers. Carlisle set the candleholder up but knocked it over again as he withdrew his hand.

Carlisle heard Esme laugh softly. Perhaps because of the candle between them, Carlisle felt the heat on his cheeks was too much for him to bear. He silently cursed himself for his clumsiness.

Carlisle set the holder up and did not let go this time. Esme waited a few seconds, tilting the candle and waiting for the wax to drip. Her hand was so steady that the fire almost stopped flickering. Carlisle looked at the delicate, dexterous fingers with which she had once enchanted him when she was knitting. He suddenly felt an urge to touch her finger to see if the pink glow had made her skin softer. He secretly hoped her hand would move maybe just a few centimeters down and closer to his.

The wax was dripping so slowly that they stared at the candle without breath as if they were waiting for the hatchling to tear its shell or a flower to bloom.

one

two

three

Four

scalding and glistening, falling into the hollow in the center of the brass candleholder.

Slowly and carefully she fixed the candle, they were wrapped in a warm and bright glow.

“There.” She talked to herself and sit in the armchair across the table with her book.

Somehow, Carlisle felt an inexpressible sense of loss. He had expected Esme to light a few more candles.


	4. Wait Till the Rain Stops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mention of domestic violence

1921 August 23

[Esme's POV]

It's raining again.

It's always raining these days.

The cloud had come so quickly that it was not long before it rolled across the forest and covered the twilight sky, which had been tinted with gold and pink. Carried by the wind, the rain sloped in through the open window. A drop splashed on the unfinished painting in front of Esme, left a tear on the cheek of the laughing fairy in the woods, and magnifying the texture left by rough brush. She dried the rain with her cuff which luckily did not ruin her paint.

As Esme got up to close the window, she noticed that her laundry, which had been hanging out in the yard that morning, had become shrouded in mist and dust from the storm.

Esme picked up the basket and ran into the yard to take the clothes into the house.

The whole world was so gray, all the colors were washed away by the rain, including the dark green trees in the distance, the emerald grass under her feet, her brightest yellow dress. It was as if she was living inside a glass ball that had been shaken by a naughty child, and the motionless buildings, trees, and the small figures had suddenly been turned upside down and drowning in water full of foam.

Esme detested the incessant rain, the pressing cloud hanging overhead, the dim light, and the wind breaking branches.

She used to enjoy rainy days and even the storms. She would snuggle herself into a blanket in the corner of the kitchen, her mother's freshly brewed cinnamon-apple tea on the fire puffing out warm aroma as it lifted the lid of the pot. She was obsessed with those beautiful poems, heartbreaking love, and fantastic adventures. The sound of rain outside the window was the rhyme of the poems, the tangled and destructive love between Heathcliff and Catherine, the howl in the Baskerville mansion. But She can’t remember when she began to hate rain, fear thunder, feel restless and suffocated on rainy days.

Esme went back to her bedroom and took off her wet dress, and threw them onto the pile of clothes that needed to be washed again.

As Esme reached to open the wardrobe door, she caught a glimpse of her own reflection in a full-length mirror.

Esme moved her hand slowly down to her stomach and poked with fingers. She had noticed from the day she was born that her belly was softer than the rest of her body, with a curve visible from the side. Carlisle's venom sealed her body forever in the postpartum state.

Esme had almost nothing to remember her lost baby. No names, no photographs, and even the smell of the blanket that had once wrapped him had faded. There are moments when Esme wondered about the reality of all this, suspecting if she was trapped in a nightmare with extreme lucidity. But it was only by looking at her body that Esme could find traces of her baby’s existence, reminding her that she had conceived him, held him in her arms, and for two short days, had been his mother. When Esme had lost everything, fate left her body as one last gift that was both too sweet and too bitter for her to accept.

Esme placed her palm on her belly, thought it to be an alien gesture, but her heart was filled with familiar expectation and affection. She remembered looking forward to feeling his movement for the first time, waiting for a strong kick. But when it happened, it was subtle, like a few drunken butterflies in her stomach, fish swimming inside of her, a little bird flapping its wings gently.

It was August 23, exactly one year after the first time she felt the bird fluttered its wings, giving Esme the courage to flee.

During the longest and most dreadful half-hour walking to the train station, the sky above Esme’s head was so clear and beautiful but she was so cold in the warm August morning sun and dared not stop. When the train finally left the hellish place, the sky darkened, and Esme's tears of fear finally trickled down as the summer rain splashed wet the windows.

It was still raining outside her bedroom window, blurring the landscape again, but this time, as desperately as she wanted, there was not a single drop of tear in her eyes.

Esme pulled a dress out of the wardrobe, put it on, sat down on the edge of the bed, and pressed her hand against her stomach again.

Esme had been a mother for only two days, and the baby’s hand had not grabbed her finger many times, she had not kissed his face and smelled his little head enough. But he had been the only person Esme had ever loved in the world, her only companion and hope. During those ten months, he had grown just below her heart, and she was familiar with his every restless twist and kick.

She remembered him waking her up with a strong kick just as she was drifting off to sleep, remembered how scared she was when he was suddenly quiet and how relieved she felt his movement after she had drunk cold water or eaten biscuits. She remembered herself indulging in the little game between her and the baby. She would press the little bump on the abdomen, and he would draw back his elbow or feet, and in a few seconds stretch them out again.

Esme pressed her stomach again, only heartbreaking quietness this time.

Esme slid on the ground, and the pain from her chest to her limbs swept over her. she pressed her fist against her chest but the imagined pain did not ease. She had thought that after so long, she had gradually picked up the pieces of her heart and glued them back, she thought it would hurt less.

Esme leaned against the bed with her eyes closed. She wanted so badly to fall asleep, to lose consciousness, to escape the shadow of the sorrow, if only for a moment. But she was cursed, she cannot even have a second of peace.

Esme began to recite meaningless passages of Italian, hoping to distract herself. 

As the sun went down, the rain came down harder and harder, the sound of the falling rain gave Esme the impression that outside was an angry river. She heard branches break and fall to the ground, the wind rolled leaves and stones and hit her windows. Throwing back the memories she tried so hard to forget, and remind Esme again and again of the rains that had destroyed her life in the past few years.

While on a date in the park, Esme questioned Charles for his sudden apathy. He left in a temper. The rain breaks the flower he gave Esme, and the saffron petal is knocked off and smeared with dirt.

On the cold rainy morning after they got married, unwilling to do what Charles wanted in bed, she pushed out the door. Bitter rain poured through her thin sleeping dress, Esme staggers barefoot from the front door to the window and begged his pardon, asked him to open the door, and after receiving nasty insults, he closed the curtain in front of her.

On that rainy night, in the dark, Charles, who had just returned from the pub, knocked her down on the sofa smothered her with the smell of alcohol and cold, rain-soaked clothes. In the humiliation and pain, all she can do was close her eyes and remain motionless, six weeks later, she found out she was pregnant.

On the night of her baby’s death, the late afternoon drizzle had become flakes of snow as she walked toward the cliff. The snow fell on her bare arms and feet, but she could not feel the cold sting anymore.

When the rain poured, Esme had resisted, struggled, implored, gone numb, and then fell like a raindrop.

Esme lay on the ground and everything around her began to distort and spin. She gasped, reaching out to beat and scratch her chest in a vain attempt to relieve the immense suffocating pressure on it.

All the lights went out and the house was left in total darkness at the moment of sudden, loud thunder. Esme wanted to light a candle, but she could not move her limbs. She felt as if some part of her soul was forever trapped in those heavy rains and nights of the past. It was as if some mysterious force kept pulling her back, trying to drown her.

Esme felt a large hand on her arm. "Please don't hurt me. I don't want to go back," she screamed, and struggled.

The hand went back.

"Shh, Esme, it’s me. " Esme saw a warm light in front of her. "You are safe."

In frenzied despair, Esme tried to focus her eyes on the light. Finally, the face behind her became clear. Topaz eyes and the golden hair on his forehead flickered and shimmered with the light of the candle. The invisible cages of fear and darkness around Esme have torn a crack into the air and light, and the spinning world stopped. Esme was finally able to breathe.

"Esme, can you sit up?" Carlisle's voice was soft as if Esme were a little pile of sand, and he feared that one breath might blow her away. Esme moved her fingers, but her limbs remained numb.

"Do you mind me pulling you up?" He asked again, and Esme blinked.

He set the candlestick on the floor and crouched down taking Esme's arm with one hand and supporting Esme's shoulder with the other, pulling Esme up from the carpet. His movement was so slow, soft, but firm, reminding Esme of the way he had treated her broken leg. He put her back against the bed, then brushed the tangled hair on her face. For a moment, Esme felt like a lifeless, fragile doll.

He gave Esme a reassuring smile and sat down on the carpet beside her. Desperately yearning for his slightly warm touch, Esme's palm moved inch by inch forward to his hand beside his body, as if struggling to reach floating driftwood in a torrent. When Esme stretched her fingers but still cannot reach him, she almost cried from disappointment.

Noticed this, Carlisle got up and sat closer to her.

Too close.

Their legs were pressed together. His smell, his strength, his temperature penetrated the cloth between them.

He took Esme's hand, which disconsolately placed on the ground, wrapped it in his palm with no difficulty, and rubbed the back of Esme's hand lightly with his thumb. With each stroke Esme was lifted a foot higher from the dark water; with each stroke, she was able to draw more air into her lungs; with every touch, the pain that runs through her limbs is lessened.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Carlisle eventually broke the silence between them. He looked at Esme with eyes as warm as candlelight, no impatience, no disdain, no condescension.

"I don't know where to start." Realizing that her left hand was still pressing against her heart, Esme slowly released it.

"You can start anywhere." He gave Esme's hand a gentle squeeze.

She trusted him.

"I'm afraid of the dark and the rain. It makes me feel depressed and abandoned. I think it has something to do with my fear of Charles." Esme said the first thing that came to her mind, "Ironically, I'm almost indestructible now. But it still scares me when thinking of him." Esme gave a wry smile and pretended to examine her dress to avoid his eyes.

"You are the bravest person I have ever met.” Carlisle had said these words to Esme too many times. Only he and Edward gave Esme's escape a filter of heroism, a kind indulgent support for which Esme felt grateful but unworthy.

“Being a vampire doesn't mean that we don't have any fear. You can be afraid sometimes but it won’t change the fact that how strong you’re. What happened tonight was Charles's fault. What he did to you was unforgivable."

Esme looked down at the carpet, weighing what he had just said. She wanted to believe as much as he did.

"Next time when it's dark and rainy, I'll come to you then you won't be alone." He whispered.

"And if you can't make it?"

"Think about this. 'A Drop fell on the Apple Tree, Another on the Roof. A Half a Dozen kissed the Eaves, And made the Gables laugh. A few went out to help the Brook, That went to help the Sea. Myself Conjectured were they Pearls, What Necklaces could be, The Dust replaced, in Hoisted Roads, The Birds jocoser sung. The Sunshine threw his Hat away, The Bushes spangles flung. The Breezes brought dejected Lutes, And bathed them in the Glee. The Orient showed a single Flag, And signed the fête away.’

Esme did not expect that he would recite a poem. His melodious baritone had made the rain outside didn't sound so grim and sad in the slow-flowing lines.

"You're such a nerd. My dear friend." A smile finally appeared on her face.

"and think about this." He raised their holding hands. "Then wait till the rain stops."

Esme rotated her wrists a little, entwined her fingers with his, and placed them on her lap.

Carlisle carried with him a calming healing power. One action, one word can heal a heart. Esme did not know how he did it, but she knew that only a gentle, humble, and compassionate person can possess such power, and she was sure that if she told him of her pent sorrow he would be able to heal her.

"This day of last year was the day I felt my baby’s movement and it was the day I ran away from Charles. It rained." Esme tried to describe the tangle of memories in her head. "But I can't feel anything now...During those months, it was just the two of us...I'm scared every day and I'm so alone...When I think of how I lost him, I...I can't bear the pain...I can hardly remember his face and I feel so sorry that I did not give him a name… I am so sorry that I did not take good care of him." Spilled her heart, Esme finally buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

"I'm so sorry," Carlisle said. Esme could feel his hand caressing Esme's back, relieving the tremble from the sobs, had not known how long, until she was stable.

"You can still give him a name and say his name every time you think of him," Carlisle said softly, taking Esme's hand again.

"I don't know." Esme shook her head. fearing a boy might look like his father and inherit Charles's temper, Esme was expecting a baby girl. She had always thought of her baby as a girl with light brown curly hair, and even stubbornly only bought pink wool to knit hats and socks. But when he was born, when she held that little body in her arms and looked at his face, she knew that she would never have brought him up like Charles.

"Tell me about him."

"He was an athlete who used to kick so hard and wake me in the middle of the night, he was always rolling over and over. He was born two weeks early, I was so frightened and unprepared. He had dark, brown eyes and hair and long lashes, and I remember the nurse saying that his eyes and mouth were like mine. His head smelled like butterscotch and apples. He used to grasp my fingers so tightly and he would not let go for a long time. When he was asleep, his fist would slowly open like a little blooming flower and the corners of his mouth would suddenly turn up as if he were smiling. He was a crybaby, but if I put him on my chest and he would quiet down."

As the sound of the rain became lighter outside, Esme found herself finally able to smile at these rare precious memories she shared with her baby. As Esme called his name, again and again, the misty little figure that had long gone became clear again. His death still pained her, but she finally found a reason to bear it.

"I've fallen in love with this little guy," Carlisle said with a smile

"I think I want to call him Anthony. Anthony Platt.” The name like a butterfly flew across the room and landed on her heart. “I remembered that the name meant 'priceless' in Latin."

"What a beautiful name." Carlisle looked at Esme and gently tugged her hand again.

"I miss him so much. This is why I believe that we are not cursed and have a chance to end up in heaven. I must believe. That’s the only way I’ll meet him one day.”

"God will take care of Anthony."

Esme laid his head on Carlisle's shoulder, and he put his other hand over their holding hand.

"I'll stay with you until the rain stops," Carlisle said.

Esme thought it was her delusion that Carlisle sounded like he was making a serious and permanent commitment.


End file.
